The Strength of One Small
by Lady Jaina
Summary: Shortly after leaving Rivendell, the fellowship is pursued by orcs. Frodo is gravely injured. Can the fellowship get him back to Rivendell in time? If they do, will that be enough to save him? **No slash, sex, or profanity**
1. A Fall in the Darkness

Author's Note: The characters of this story and of anything _Lord of the Rings_ are not my own, but the works of the master author, J.R.R. Tolkein. This story takes place between Rivendell and Moria…I like to think of it as one of many adventures we've yet to learn about. (Slight AU with a minor detail or two.)

Each chapter has been revised and updated. Enjoy!

The Strength of One Small

By Lady Jaina

Chapter One-A Fall in the Darkness

How long had the fellowship been running? Frodo tried to sort out the events of the day as he ran. Then he remembered that the excitement had begun right after the evening meal when Legolas first sensed approaching dangers. Sam had doused the fire while Pippin and Merry had lapped up the remainder of the rabbit stew. Then Sting had begun to glow bright blue. The orcs had come upon them from out of nowhere. Legolas and Gimli had bought them time to escape under the cover of darkness. The orcs still pursued them.

It night was fast approaching again, and Aragorn knew that they would have to face the orcs before darkness overtook the path. The endless running could not continue. At last he was able to give a signal to Gimli and Legolas, who relayed it to Boromir and Gandalf. They stopped immediately, their enemy closing in. The ranger yelled, "Frodo-Merry-Pip-Sam, run for cover-NOW!" In truth, it sounded more like Fro-Mer-Pip-Sam, but his point was easily conveyed.

Arrows began whizzing through the air, and behind them the hobbits heard the clash of steel. Frodo looked back to see his companions engaged in a fierce battle with more orcs than he cared to count. Legolas launched arrow after arrow at lightning speed. Gimli dismembered more than one orc with his crazed but methodical axe swinging. The two men fought back to back as the wizard's talents eluded more than his fair share of the beings. They were successful. The orcs had focused on them and failed to notice the hobbits' flight. Suddenly, Frodo found himself alone. Where his cousins had gone, he did not know. Hearing the sound of heavily armed footsteps behind him, he began to run, but his to his dismay, his feet found only air. The ringbearer's eyes widened in terror as he realized he was falling. He tried to scream as he clawed the empty air, but no sound escaped his throat before he landed with a jarring thud on the ground below, letting out a scream as something pierced his chest. All went black as his scream was lost in the darkness of the night.

Legolas' eyes snapped away from the battle briefly as he heard the distant cry, but he quickly dismissed it as an animal. Foul orcs. He loathed them. For once he was glad of Gimli's axe and fierce determination. He hadn't wanted to admit it at the beginning, but the dwarf was a useful asset.

Aragorn's eyes were an icy gray steel as he and Boromir fought side by side. Legolas might have been his first choice as a partner in battle, but the Gondorian was no coward. Boromir had great skill in battle. Though Aragorn still questioned the intentions of the steward's son, he could not deny the strategical benefit Elrond had obviously foreseen. Finally, they managed to drive the last of the remaining orcs back into the shadows, giving them some time until the enemy could regroup and come at them again.

"More will return, we must make haste," Gandalf cautioned, somehow sensing Aragorn's dark thoughts.

Aragorn nodded his agreement and called loudly to the hobbits. A few moments later three filthy hobbits appeared before them, and Boromir had to bite back a laugh at their appearance, which was quite obvious even in the light of the waxing moon. Gimli didn't suppress his own laugh as Pippin held out his hands. "Berries, anyone? We found a nice patch of bushes. Don't worry, we saved you some."

Merry elbowed his friend, eliciting an indignant cry. "You mean Sam made you save some."

"'Course I did, they did all the hard work, after all, Peregrin Took."

Legolas' gray eyes flashed over them, "Where is Frodo? He should be back by now."

Aragorn joined the elf in scanning the tree line as Pippin shrugged and replied, "One minute he was there, then he wasn't. He probably didn't hear you, or he found his own berry bush."

"I don't think so. This is unlike him. He's not the prankster you are, Peregrin," Gandalf replied grimly with a shake of his head, "We need to find him."

* * *

Frodo woke to voices above him. Straining, he made out Gandalf's voice, "Meriadoc, step lightly-that's a long way down!" The ring bearer tried to call out, but only managed to make a faint rasp. His hope plummeted when he heard his friends turn to leave.


	2. Hold On

A/N: None of the medical procedures in this chapter or any other should be tried at home. They are from my active imagination.

Chapter Two: Hold On

The fellowship had been searching for Frodo unsuccessfully all night. As the sun rose, they came full circle and Legolas, Strider, and an almost hysterical Sam approached the cliff's edge. The ranger noted the long way down and cringed. It was the one place they hadn't ventured. He doubted Frodo would survive he had fallen that distance, and he prayed the hobbit wasn't down there. Hoping desperately that he wouldn't hear a reply, and that Frodo wasn't below to give one, Aragorn loudly called the hobbit's name.

Frodo struggled to push himself up, knowing he couldn't be heard while lying face down, but he it was if his arms weren't connected to the rest of his body. He couldn't move and struggling made each breath more painful than the last. Despite this, he tried desperately to yell a reply. His efforts made him lapse into a fit of coughing, though coughing wasn't an accurate description. It was more like choking, gagging. His eyes widened at the pain, and at the blood he suddenly tasted in his mouth.

"Aragorn! My ears hear something," Legolas shouted excitedly as he scanned the ground below with his keen eyes. Then he paled. The change in his complexion did not go unnoticed by Sam or Estel. The elf swiftly pulled the ranger aside and whispered softly what he had seen.

Aragorn looked sick, but announced, "We're going down. All of us. Frodo will be easier with Sam near him."

With Sam holding tightly to the elf's shoulders, the three started cautiously down the cliff face, being careful to find secure footing. When the hobbit saw his master, he cried out and ran the rest of the distance to Frodo's side, trying to lift him off the stake-like stump that had impaled him. Blood had stained the ground, and a steady stream was flowing from the wound. Sam cried between sobs, "Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry. Please..."

"No! Sam, don't try to move him yet. The obstacle may be slowing the bleeding," Aragorn told him urgently as he quickly approached. His voice sounded calm to his own ears, though inside he was shaken. He'd seen men of renown perish with lesser wounds.

Legolas said a hand on his friend's shoulder, even as he drew Sam away, "His wound is grave, Estel. How is he still alive?"

Aragorn shook his head, then found with surprise that the hobbit was still very much awake. He knelt even closer to Frodo's face. The hobbit's blue eyes had lost their spark, and the hobbit gazed at him dully, but he _was_ indeed conscious.

"Frodo, don't try to move anymore. I want you to blink if you understand me."

Slowly, the ring bearer's eyes closed and opened, and he mouthed, "Strider."

Aragorn smiled down at his friend, "That's right. Frodo. Now, I know you are in pain."

At last, Frodo found his voice, "It hurts…breathe…chest." He lapsed into a fit of coughing again, and Strider held his head carefully, frowning when he noticed the amount of blood the hobbit was coughing up. When the ranger brought his hands away, they were covered in blood.

Using the edge of his cloak to clean of the ring bearer's mouth, the ranger asked, "Frodo, can you still hear me?"

The hobbit blinked tiredly. Both Legolas and Aragorn could see that his consciousness was fading quickly. "We must act quickly, Estel."

Aragon nodded, also sensing the urgency. Before he proceeded, he wanted to explain to Frodo what was going on, to give some order to his disoriented world. "Legolas and I are going to get you back up this hill, then we are all going to take you back to Rivendell. The quest will merely be delayed for a while."

Frodo's heart screamed against this, knowing that time was of the utmost importance, but he was too exhausted to protest.

"Now Frodo, the first thing we are going to do is get you free. I cannot remove the stake yet, so we are going to separate the stake from the ground. We will try to spare you as much pain as possible, but don't try to stay conscious and ride out the pain. Legolas, I want you to hold this stake as still as you can. I'm going to slice it near to the ground so we can move Frodo. Sam, I want you to talk to him, and do your best to distract him."

Even the elf's firm hold on the stake, and Sam's soothing failed to spare the hobbit the excruciating pain he felt as the stake vibrated with each blow Aragorn delivered to it. The ranger almost sobbed when he saw the small body spasm with the pain he had caused, but he smoothed his face and continued his even strokes until the stake began to give way.

"Quick, catch him! If he falls forward the stake will damage his chest further!"

Legolas responded to his friend's warning before he finished speaking it. Sam, Aragorn, and Legolas worked together to carefully sit Frodo upright. Strider's eyes didn't have to be strained to see how the hobbit trembled, and he wished the stake wasn't impeding him from laying Frodo flat on his back. He reached for Frodo's wrist and paled in alarm at the racing pulse he found. The ring bearer's breathing had become even more shallow and ragged. Sam's eyes widened in panic when he saw this, but he knew he would hinder Strider if he stepped closer. He could only watch in horror.

Aragorn realized his helplessness, like he'd realized it that horrible night at the Watchtower of Amon Sul. "I need a blanket, and I really need my pack." Sam was off before he could ask, scrambling back up the edge of the cliff, where the rest of the fellowship had gathered, watching anxiously.

Legolas hastily undid the fastenings on his cloak and draped it over the trembling hobbit's shoulders, then laid a hand near the injury. This seemed to calm the hobbit, whose breathing evened ever so slightly.

Aragorn gently lowered the hobbit's head onto his own lap and called loudly, "Frodo! Frodo! Wake up! Listen to my voice, focus on it. Now follow it. That's it, open your eyes."

Dazed blue eyes gazed up at him, laced with pain and confusion. "Good, now take some good, deep breaths."

Frodo did as he was told and Legolas smiled as the hobbit's breathing returned to normal and his pulse slowed. Yet Aragorn knew that the worst was far from over. They had to get Frodo back up the cliff without injuring him further. Too much jostling, and he could die, Aragorn knew this only too well. His mind drifted briefly to distant memories as he watched Sam scramble back down the cliff with his pack.


	3. Up the Cliff

A/N: Due to hobbit pain and some future medical treatments, I am upgrading the rating to PG-13 just to be safe. There is still no slash, sex, or profanity. Disclaimer is at the beginning of the story. Here is the official "do not try this at home statement": Medical treatments and procedures used in this story are from my imagination. I have little medical knowledge, so do not try what you read.

Chapter Three-Up the Cliff

Aragorn continued to look over Frodo. He didn't want any surprises on the way back up the cliff. He was relieved to observe that Frodo didn't have a torn artery. The blood flow would most likely have been easily stopped by his skill, but for the stake through Frodo's chest. It was very near the hobbit's heart and had most certainly damaged his right lung. The ranger was at a loss as to why Frodo was not experiencing more difficulty breathing, but he was grateful. In any other time or place, he wouldn't have moved the halfing, but in this case, it was necessity.

"Legolas, I want you to carry Frodo back up. Your feet are the swiftest, and the surest. I fear that I would jostle him too severely in his weakened condition."

The elf's voice was hushed, "But mellon nin, should we not attempt to treat him first?"

The ranger replied in equally hushed elvish, deliberately leaving Sam out of the conversation, "If I remove the stake now, he may begin bleeding quite profusely. We do not know the full extent of his injuries and I cannot risk worsening them while he must yet be moved. If he goes into further shock, getting him back up the cliff will prove much more perilous for Frodo."

The elf nodded with understanding, even as Sam glared at the two friends suspiciously. Aragorn ignored him and turned back to Frodo, "Can you move your legs for me?"

The hobbit moved his foot almost imperceptibly. The movement brought a deep grimace to his face.

"Excellent, Frodo. That means the injury is confined to your chest." The ranger was relieved that Frodo had no spinal injuries that would prevent moving him. He continued slowly, almost as if apologizing, "In just a moment, Legolas if going to lift you and bear you back up the cliff. We're going to be moving you quite quickly. You will probably feel sick and dizzy. Sam will go with me."

Sam nodded tearfully that he understood and almost sobbed when Frodo patted his hand to reassure him.

Legolas immediately sensed Frodo's life force deteriorating as he positioned the tiny hobbit carefully in his arms and allowed Aragorn to swiftly knot bandages around the stake so it wouldn't shift during the climb as Sam looked on with approval. How Frodo managed to hang on as they climbed up the cliff face, Legolas did not know. He noticed that even Sam had difficulty hanging on as the path steepened. The elf moved carefully and methodically, knowing that each jar caused the hobbit agony. It pained him every time he heard Frodo whimper as he tried to keep from crying out in pain.

The fellowship had mercifully made camp near to the cliff's edge, and Legolas was much relieved. Frodo's fragile body was trembling violently with pain and shock when he was at last leaned ackwardly against a tree. Legolas placed a calming hand on Frodo's brow, peering with concern at the eyes that were rolling wildly back into the hobbit's head. He sensed the entire fellowship crowding around them. After the longest few minutes of the elf's life, Aragorn emerged over the edge of the cliff. Not even stopping to regain his breath, the ranger found his footing and dashed over to join the small crowd. He didn't set Sam on the ground until he had reached Frodo's side.

Ever so gently, the ranger shook Frodo's shoulders. He needed to check that the move hadn't exacerbated any of the hobbit's injuries, "Stay with me, Frodo. I need you to tell me everywhere you feel pain."

The hobbit barely managed to croak out, "Head hurts a little…dizzy…chest…what 'appened, Strider?"

Aragorn placed a concerned hand on the halfing's shoulder, "You don't remember?"

Frodo shook his head slightly, "I fell…on something…hard to breathe."

"I know," the ranger soothed, "I'll have you patched up and back on the mend soon enough." He tried to sound optimistic for the sake of the hobbits, but he was far from it.

While motioning for Sam to come closer, the ranger asked softly, "Did you hit your head?"

The ring bearer shook his head once more, relaxing a bit when he felt Sam sit down beside him. He barely noticed Strider get up and riffle though his pack, not finding what he was looking for. Gandalf handed him something.

A few moments later, the ranger returned to Frodo's side and held a cup of foul smelling liquid to his lips, "Drink this. I will ease your pain." Frodo obeyed, and soon felt a bit like he was floating. He closed his eyes at the relief of having some of the dizziness subside.

"Why did you not put him to sleep?" Boromir asked softly, healing being well out of the realm of his extensive expertise.

"I want him alert for now, until I know sedating him will not suppress his breathing. When is asleep, I will remove the stake. It will not be long now. The bleeding cannot be stopped unless it is removed."

"It has slowed," Legolas reported in their shared tongue, "perhaps we could leave it in until we reach Rivendell?"

"Nay, my friend, that would be unwise. He could be bleeding internally, in which case a wait could kill him. I don't know how much blood a hobbit can lose, but Frodo has lost more than enough. That is why he is dizzy. He also needs to lie flat on his back, which he cannot do as long as the stake remains in his chest."

When at last the ring bearer began to drift off into a fitful slumber, Sam asked fearfully, "How bad is it? And don't you sugarcoat it. I know it's bad, but I'm not a child, Mr. Strider!"

Aragorn often had to remind himself of that very fact. Of the hobbits, he conceded that only Pippin seemed to be a child. With a sigh, he replied, "He has lost a great deal of blood. If my guess is correct, he punctured a lung and has displaced some ribs as well. The stake missed his spine, which seems to be the only bright spot in this mess. He's got an uphill battle in front of him. He is going to have great difficulty breathing when I remove the stake."

"Why can you not leave it in then?" Sam asked rather frightfully.

The ranger sighed, he would not tell Sam what he had just told his elven companion, but he would not lie either, "It could become infected and it continues to bleed even now. With every jar it causes him pain. He will rest easier with it removed."

Pippin and Merry had not said a word since their cousin had been found at the bottom of the cliff. This was not lost on Boromir, or on Gimli, who both decided that the best way to be of service would be to distract the two younger hobbits from what could become a rather gruesome sight.

Gandalf approached them from the fire, carrying another foul-smelling cupful. "When are you going to remove it?"

"As soon as his breathing evens out and he sleeps soundly." Aragorn replied, "He will wake when I remove it." Fearfully, Strider looked up into the wizard's eyes, "I fear the pain will overcome him. He might not survive it, but it must be done."

Gandalf nodded, his sadness transparent. He had known the hobbit since Bilbo had adopted him and he didn't know if the old hobbit could go on if his beloved nephew died. Why was it always Frodo who had to overcome such grievous wounds. He'd have gladly taken them all upon himself.

After only a few more minutes, Aragorn nodded to Legolas and Gandalf. It was time. Boromir saw this and began to weave a lively story of Gondor to distract the worried young hobbits. Even Gimli would add his own comments, carefully disguising his worry with gruff jokes. Aragorn wrenched his gaze away from the fireside, where the four sat in thinly disguised misery, and turned to his companion. "This will be quite complex."

"How can we assist you, Estel?" Legolas offered.

"Gandalf, you brace him from behind, and you Legolas, brace him from the front. He will thrash, but you must hold him completely still so I don't injure him further," Aragorn instructed as he readied a pile of bandages he'd torn from one of his clean linen shirts. "Sam, you can let him know you're here and you can help me also. If I should run out of bandages, I will need you to fetch me more, and to follow any other instructions I give you."

Sam nodded and grasped Frodo's hand as if it were a lifeline as Legolas and Gandalf moved into position to hold Frodo down.


	4. Agony and Other Problems

A/N: This is very painful chapter in Frodo's fan fiction life. If you are squeamish, you might want to prepare yourself. It's not too graphic as those kinds of fanfics go, just rather detailed. Think of this chapter as a Lord of the Rings homage to ER. Once again, nothing you read is a true medical procedure, so don't try it at home or in an emergency.

Chapter Four-Agony and Other Problems

Realizing there was no way to remove the stake gently or painlessly, Aragorn elected to do it quickly. He knew that no matter what happened, the bleeding must be tended to first. The procedure, he also knew, would not only cause more bleeding, but could greatly aggravate Frodo's injuries. The ranger sighed, greatly aggravate was an understatement. Gripping the stake with both hands, he gave a mighty jerk and a scream pierced the night. It was Frodo's scream.

Boromir's story halted and everyone trained frightened eyes on the body of Frodo, who was writhing in pain against the gentle hands that held him in place. Pippin couldn't make himself look away, but clung to his cousin Merry in fear. Even the optimistic Sam's cheeks were streaked with tears, and he was white with the fear that he might lose his master.

All this, and the stake hadn't budged, but the hobbit's bleeding had increased. This, Strider knew, did not bode well. He realized with fear that even if Lord Elrond were present, they could still lose the ring bearer. He knew now that if he left the stake as it was, Frodo would bleed to death, perhaps in minutes. He wished now that he hadn't delayed, all that precious blood that had spilled slowly while they waited for the right moment would have been a great help to his friend. Ignoring Frodo's expression of agony as best he could, he once again gripped the stake and gave a mighty tug. To his relief, it gave a little. The hobbit bucked and cried out once again at the excruciating pain. Sam tightened his grip on his master's hand.

Frightened by the amount of pain he was causing Frodo, Aragorn wished ardently that he could quit. Gandalf gave him a reassuring nod, "It's best to hurry and get it over with."

The ranger nodded and once more pulled on the stake, throwing all his weight into it. The halfling cried out, calling hysterically for Bilbo, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as the wizard and the elf stained to hold him still. The blue orbs of the hobbit pleaded with him to make it all go away.

"Once more, Frodo, then no more, I promise, just hold on."

Aragon's words had no effect. The hobbit didn't even acknowledge his presence. He only stared blankly. The pain was too great. At that point, the ring-bearer wished they would let him die. Never had he felt such pain.

Trembling and nauseous, Aragorn once again tightened his grip on the stake. He jerked as hard as he could and Frodo shrieked in agony, but then his shriek died down to a whimper. As Legolas tightened his gentle yet firm hold, the hobbit began to thrash.

Blood began to pour from the wound and Legolas quickly laid Frodo against Gandalf and moved out of Aragon's way. The ranger was already pressing as hard as he dared on the gaping holes in Frodo's chest and back. Even more alarming, however, were the heaves Frodo made as he tried to suck air into his lungs. Legolas' eyes widened and he grabbed the hobbits wrist. "Aragorn, is there nothing we can do? His pulse races so."

"Gandalf, I'm going to move my hand from his back. I want you to resume pressure as I let up."

The wizard gazed down at Frodo's form. "He is in shock. The trauma to his chest has been aggravated." There was no emotion behind the words, but Aragorn looked into the wizard's eyes and saw that they were glistening with emotion.

Aragorn gritted his teeth as he continued trying to stop the blood flow, "There is nothing I can do until the bleeding is slowed. Legolas, see if you can get his attention."

The elf nodded in determination as his friend began to pack bandages into the large wound, "Frodo, Frodo! Listen to me! I want you to take a deep breath and look at me. I know you hear me, just follow my voice." The hobbit didn't respond. At this, Sam buried his head in his hands and began to sob. A horrified Pippin saw this and hid his face in Boromir's cloak. Even Merry, always the firm, yet humorous one, turned away to hide his tears.

At long last, the bleeding slowed, then tapered off, allowing Aragorn to secure the bandages as tightly as he dared, criss-crossing them around Frodo's chest in a desperate attempt to keep air and blood from escaping. Taking Frodo's head into his lap, he forced the hobbit's eyes open to find that they had rolled back into his head. Almost panicking, the ranger knew what was coming.

The small halfling began to convulse as his body shut down. "Hold him still!" Aragorn ordered, hoping this wouldn't aggravate the hobbit's injuries any further. Frodo did not have any blood to spare. Locking eyes with Legolas, Strider told him urgently, "We have to get him to my father. I can only do so much to help him here."

Finally, the thrashing ceased and Aragorn turned and located Legolas' spare cloak and wrapped it snuggly around the shivering hobbit, then he did the same with his own as well. Gandalf took the hobbit into his arms as if Frodo were only a wee hobbit child. "Aragorn," he said with a concerned, though soft, voice, "He is burning with fever."

The ranger sighed and shook his head, "That is the least of our worries right now. The orcs are still out there somewhere, Rivendell is several days away, and-" he lowered his voice, "Frodo barely clings to life. His wounds need to be sealed, and I fear he can't stand to lose anymore blood. He needs bed rest and his injuries cannot be jarred further."

With the immediate crisis over, Aragorn stood shakily, the stumbled. His head was swimming. He knew what was about to happen, and he felt ashamed that the others should see it. The bile rose in his throat and he staggered to the side and retched. He had seen grave injuries in his time, but to be the cause of such pain to a friend. His stomach rebelled completely. He could only hope that the four at the fire took no notice.

"Could we not give him some blood? My people do that often when one has a serious injury," Legolas suggested when he returned, politely ignoring his friend's moment of weakness.

Strider sighed, "I don't have the supplies or knowledge of that procedure. If we were to make even one error, then it could mean death for Frodo."

Legolas was thoughtful for a moment, "He can yet survive without the procedure, so let us gather the supplies we may need and perform it only if we have no other choice."

"Let us hope that it is not needed."

Suddenly there was a sharp cry. All eyes turned to Frodo, but it was not Frodo who had cried out.

Aragorn's worried eyes drifted to Pippin, then to Merry's still form. Boromir was leaning over the hobbit in concern. A dead snake lay at his feet. The man paled as he examined Merry's foot. There were two tiny holes near the top.

"Calm down, Merry," Boromir soothed as Aragorn crossed the distance between them, "It may not be that bad."

"B-but it's a soft mouth!" (1)

"The venom may not have been injected," Boromir explained, trying to keep the hobbit from panicking, but Aragorn knew it probably had. The foot was already swollen, and a small amount of blood trickled from the puncture wounds. The ranger flashed a look at Boromir that warned him to keep the hobbit distracted. Borrowing one of Legolas' hunting knives, he made a neat incision over the two small holes.

* * *

(1)-Very dangerous venomous snake in Middle Earth, not unlike a cottonmouth.


	5. Of Blood and Pain

(A/N: Again, don't try this at home)

Chapter Five-Of Blood and Pain

Merry's foot was not as hairy as the other hobbits', so that was one less concern on Aragorn's mind as he tied a strip of cloth tightly around the halfling's calf. When he was satisfied that no more blood flowed in the leg, he began to suck the venom out. Merry was quiet throughout the entire ordeal, except for one whimper, though his eyes kept straying to the limp form of his cousin. He should have been more careful.

Patting the halfling on the knee, Aragorn rose to mix some herbs to neutralize the poison. Merry gagged as he sipped it. "This tastes terrible…it makes me feel so c-cold," he complained with a shiver.

As Boromir settled his cloak around the shaking hobbit, the ranger smiled grimly, "I'm sorry little one, I know it tastes terrible. Try to stay calm and as still as possible. With luck, you'll be on your feet again in no time!"

Turning to Pippin and Gimli, he lowered his voice, "You'll need to keep him warm. The mixture slows the blood flow, and I do not want him to catch a chill." The tween's wide, frightened eyes locked with his until Pippin nodded slowly. It was time for Pippin so show his caliber.

Strider then returned to Frodo's side and took the herbal mixture he had prepared earlier into his hands. The hobbit had calmed and appeared to be asleep, so he gently took the hobbit from Gandalf and began calling his name. When at last pain-laced eyes focused on his face, he smiled, "Drink this, little one. It will make your rest easier and your pain lighter."

With Aragorn supporting his head, the halfling drank eagerly, surprised at the pleasant taste. He looked up at the ranger again, "Strider…we have to…go...no time for…me…" Aragorn shushed him, though he was much relieved that Frodo was able to speak with him. "Aragorn-if…if I don't…make it…who will…"

Frodo lapsed into a fit of coughing, spraying blood on his lips. The ranger could only watch. When the fit ceased, he replied softly to the ring bearer, "Do not think about it right now. Lord Elrond will decide if it comes to that."

"So I was right…" Frodo said with a quiet acceptance, "How bad?"

Estel flinched and tried to reassure the hobbit, "Lord Elrond can help you better than I." However, he refused to lie to the ailing ring bearer.

Leaving Sam at Frodo's side, Aragorn pulled Legolas and Gandalf aside and softly told of his plans, "We need to start toward Rivendell before Frodo worsens. Legolas, your gait is the smoothest, I want you to carry him. Merry can ride Bill, and perhaps Pippin as well. Seeing all of this has been quite a shock to him, and to Samwise as well. I dread what it will do to him if Frodo does not survive. Gandalf, see if you can distract him. He will undoubtedly be loathe to leave Frodo. Perhaps some humor, or stories about Bilbo's adventures will calm him."

Gandalf set to his task straight away, but getting Sam to even look up was a task in itself. The wizard lowered himself to the hobbit's level and said gently, "I know it's difficult, Samwise, but you must keep faith."

"Faith-keep faith?" Sam nearly spat the words, "Of all people why'd it have to happen to Mr. Frodo? Why? You say keep faith, but there isn't any faith left to be had. Why do decent people have to suffer? He's going to die, can't you see it? There's no use hoping any longer."

Gandalf didn't scold him, or even argue. Instead, he gathered the hobbit into his arms and let him sob miserably. They had indeed been dealt a most grievous blow.


	6. Urgent Matters

When Hope is Lost

A/N: A disclaimer is at the beginning, but again, I only wrote this for fun and make no profit from it. Everything belongs to the master, Tolkein.

Chapter Six-Urgent Matters

Hearing Sam's sudden outburst, Pippin turned away from the others, struggling to compose himself. Yes, Sam was pessimistic, but he had never seen the stout hobbit give up all hope. Gimli observed all with sad eyes. Like everyone else, he felt helpless. Merry dimly watched the scene through an herbal-induced haze, noting that even Gandalf was affected. The wizard looked old and frail. The Brandybuck shivered and unwittingly drew attention to himself, even as Aragorn relayed their next move to the others.

Boromir worriedly offered Merry his coat and gingerly placed the hobbit on Bill the pony. Pippin eagerly joined his cousin. The Steward's son noted proudly that the youngest of the halflings was behaving in a mature manner very much unlike himself. However, this worried Aragorn, who, though he said nothing, feared that Pippin was in shock. With a nod, the ranger motioned that it was time to go. Gimli doused the fire as Aragorn gathered up his pack. Everyone was eager to set out.

Legolas gently took Frodo into his arms, mindful of his grave injury and set off at a brisk pace, with a determined Sam struggling to keep up behind him. The gardener barely noticed when his dwarf friend offered to carry his pack. He was too preoccupied with Frodo. He even refused to ride Bill, despite his great fondness for the pony, who was being led by Boromir. Seeing this, Strider managed a grim smile. If Sam had given up on Frodo entirely, his spirit would be broken. Sam's was still fighting. He and Gandalf brought up the rear, quietly discussing things they did not wish the others to hear.

* * *

The pace kept up for hours, before it finally slowed, then abruptly stopped when the elf turned and scanned their surroundings. Sam sensed it as well and at last found his voice to speak, "Mr. Legolas sir, what is that you're seein'?"

The elf turned, "I am not sure Sam, something hunts us. It's though a shadow has been cast over all other thoughts."

"The enemy is upon us! Run!" Gandalf's gruff voice shouted from the rear. Pippin looked back from atop Bill as Aragorn drew his sword. He saw a shadows emerging from the forest. The piercing shrieks were unmistakable, and he felt all the warmth drain from his body. The Nazgul had found them.

Merry, seeing them also, broke out in a sweat as he vividly remembered his last encounter with hosts of Mordor. His foot began to throb when he thought of the pain Frodo had experienced, and he found himself clinging to the pony, straining to remain awake and upright as the ice blackness threatened to overtake him.

Though Legolas was the fastest sprinter in the fellowship, even he could not spare Frodo from the effects the Nazgul had on him. As the shrill screams pierced the air, the hobbit woke. Pain lanced through his chest, even worse than before. It was as if his shoulder had been shoved into an icy furnace. Trembling, he took huge gulps of air in, straining against the agony.

Gimli urged Sam on, vowing that the ring wraiths would not have the wee hobbits without taking him first. Boromir gave the frightened pony a hard slap even as he instructed the hobbits to hold on tightly, trying to put Pippin and Merry as far from harm as possible.

"Aragorn, go with the others, I will hold them!" Gandalf shouted, but the ranger would not leave his long-time friend.

"You cannot stand alone!"

"Frodo and Merry will need you! I have lived my life and perhaps my whole existence has been for the purpose of aiding you now. Many will need you before the end. Do not put me before them."

Yet Strider would not give way. Fire lit up the evening sky as Gandalf tried to halt the wraiths' advance. Suddenly the wizard's white-hot anger flared and Pippin looked back in surprise and awe. The old man was there no longer. Gandalf was aged, yes, but he had changed. Bright light lit up the forest and several shrill screams pierced the air. They knew they could not pass, not yet, not with the wizard's watchful staff.

"Go back to Mordor, foul beasts!"

* * *

The fellowship continued to flee until Gandalf was sure they were safe, then they slowed and made camp as the wizard kept watch. Legolas lowered the trembling hobbit to the ground and turned to Aragorn, "The hosts of Mordor afflicted much pain on our ring bearer. I could do nothing to stop them. I fear the jostling run aggravated his wounds as well."

The ranger's eyes rested on Legolas' bloodstained tunic, then he quickly turned to tend to Frodo. It seemed as though the ring bearer's blood was everywhere, and the hobbit's skin was cold. For a moment Aragorn wondered if he was still alive. A whimper from Frodo answered him, and he brushed thoughts of his small friend's death from his mind, praying that he would never be forced to think such things again.

"Frodo. Frodo Baggins. Come on, open your eyes." The halfing continued to lie still.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Strider, sir," Sam piped up unexpectedly, pushing his way past the ranger so fast that no one had time to stop him. "Mr. Frodo's a hard hobbit to wake, he is," Sam's voice softened, "At least he once was. After Bilbo left, the only way I could wake him was to cook his breakfast. We could all do with some food now anyhow."

Aragorn chuckled and Legolas hid a smile. They were much relieved that Sam was willing to try something to help his master. The light moment darkened quickly when Boromir approached them, a limp Merry in his arms.

"The ride proved too much for him, and Pippin too, I'm afraid. Though I'm sure our Took friend would never admit it." The steward's son included this last part with a much lower voice.

The ranger sighed and motioned for his countryman to lay Merry beside Frodo. The hobbit's foot was purple from lack of circulation, but this painful treatment had done nothing to slow the effects of the poison. The herbs Aragorn had given the hobbit to slow the poison's spread had taken effect, but would not fully heal such a potent venom. In these parts, no herbs strong enough were to be found, perhaps not even at Rivendell. Strider wrapped a blanket snugly around Merry and cocked his head, signaling to Legolas that they were in need of a conference. Boromir and Gimli joined them as a weary Gandalf checked Pippin over.

Aragorn gazed for a long time at the two injured hobbits before he at last spoke. "I can do little more for either of them. I know and have been told of certain procedures, but I am not at liberty to try them until there is nothing else to be done. Frodo's wound is not closing as well as it needs to, and it bleeds steadily. The jarring he received did not help matters, and even Legolas could not prevent that. Frankly, I did not expect the wound to heal completely, but now, the ring bearer's condition only worsens. I don't have the proper supplies to sew his chest closed."

"How about a hair from Bill?" Gimli suggested. He'd often seen horse hair used to suture wounds from battle.

The ranger shook his head, "Aye, Gimli, that would close his chest. Were this a flesh wound, I would try, but Bill's hair isn't clean enough to seal such a grave wound. The infection would certainly kill Frodo. He needs elvish thread, and I have none."

Legolas actually agreed with Gimli, "Perhaps you should try, Estel, we could cleanse it over the fire. I know an infection is risky, but he cannot afford to lose more blood."

The ranger was careful to make sure that the hobbits heard nothing that was said. He knew that Sam was barely clinging to what little hope remained, and he didn't want to be the cause of further pain. Pippin, on the other hand, had had quite a shock and was on the verge of worrying himself sick. Aragorn had to concede that he worried rightly, for the situation truly held little hope, for neither Frodo nor Merry. He proceeded to update them on Merry's condition.

"Meriadoc was bitten by a soft mouth. I had hoped the herbs I gave him will prevent the venom's spread, but their potency was not strong enough to counter it. I can keep giving him the herb, but after the first dose, it usually succeeds only in making the victim cold. After that happens, there is only one more thing I can do for Merry, and that is to take his leg."

"Aragorn, are you insane?" A look from the latter caused Boromir to lower his voice, "I have seen this done in Gondor. Grown men have died!"

The ranger closed his eyes in misery as he murmured, "I know, but really the argument is pointless. It is probably too late for even that radical treatment."

"How long does he have?" Legolas asked quietly, a strange look in his eyes.

"I have often said that hobbits are made of stouter stuff than you or I. We would probably be near death now. I give him two more days-at the most." Everyone accepted this news with grief-stricken faces. They all knew what that meant for Merry. Rivendell was at least three days away, and they had no means to bear them there any faster.

Aragorn returned to Frodo's side, where a distraught Sam was trying unsuccessfully to spoon feed his master. "He won't eat, Mr. Strider." The gardener choked tearfully.

Strider squeezed the hobbit's shoulder in comfort, "He may be unable to, Sam. Lord Elrond will patch him up." He silently wondered if the hobbit would make it that far. The ranger's hope was fading as quickly as Sam's. He knew he'd been able to keep his despair concealed, save from Legolas, who knew him too well and had always managed to sense such things in him.

* * *

The night was cold and gusty, and Aragorn was partly grateful for it because it made Frodo more alert. Merry, however, shivered under several thick blankets and Boromir's cloak. The ranger refused to let himself sleep, knowing that he would never forgive himself if either hobbit were to pass from this world while he slept. He was startled to find two blue orbs watching his every movement closely.

"Frodo! How are you feeling?" He asked quietly.

The hobbit managed a small smile, "Tired…chest still hurts…thirsty."

"Would you like to try some of the soup Sam made for you? He was quite disappointed when you did not wake it try it."

"Where is Sam?"

"Sleeping by your feet," Aragorn replied with a chuckle, motioning his Sam's direction with his head.

"Good old Sam…yes, soup sounds…okay."

Frodo took small spoonfuls, but Strider was pleased to find the tin cup almost empty when the ring bearer finally refused to eat any more. With a contented smile, Frodo closed his eyes. Soon, Aragorn could tell by his ragged breathing that he was asleep. Checking Frodo's bandages and making sure Merry's fever wasn't too high, the ranger finally surrendered to sleep.

* * *

Cries of pain and a strange gurgling sound woke him. He bolted upright to find a worried Legolas bending over Frodo. The hobbit seemed to be convulsing as Aragorn joined the elf. "What happened?" He asked breathlessly, not bothering to lower his voice, as the entire fellowship, with the exception of Merry, were quickly waking.

Seeing this, Legolas began speaking the Gray Tongue, mainly so the hobbits wouldn't understand and panic. They could be angry with him later.

"He's been doing this for a while now, but it only just now got louder. I couldn't leave him to wake you, nin mellon*. It appears he's trying to vomit, but nothing comes up. I turned him on his side so he wouldn't breathe it into his lungs, but quite frankly, I don't have the faintest idea what is wrong. It seems as if there is a problem with his digestive tract, but I don't know what or how to treat it. Has he eaten?"

Aragorn sighed, "Yes, he had almost an entire cup of soup. Surely it would have affected him sooner than this. He was fine before he fell asleep. You said nothing has come up?"

"Nothing at all Estel. Could his injury have torn his throat?"**

"It sounds conceivable. It is possible that happened and prevented the soup from going down."

"But why won't it come back up? I'm no healer, but it seems to me that it is draining into his chest."

Frodo thrashed suddenly, and the two friends reached out to steady him. When Aragorn moved his hands away, they were coated in blood-tinted vomit.

* * *

* My friend

** Here I am referring to the esophagus


	7. Inching Toward Life and Death

The Strength of One Small

A/N: Please do not try anything you see in this fic at home. I'm not a doctor; you don't want to try a figment of my imagination! None of this belongs to me!

Chapter Seven-Inching Toward Life and Death

Frodo continued to thrash for quite some time before he collapsed completely, his strength spent. Fingers trembling, Aragorn uncertainly ran them along the small neck until he felt a weak throbbing of life. The ranger sank to his knees in relief. He had feared the prolonged convulsions might have been too much for Frodo. He looked up to find himself and Legolas surrounded by the others in the fellowship. Even Merry leaned weakly on Sam and Pippin as he looked on anxiously, sweat glistening on his brow in the moonlight.

"He's bleeding again," Gandalf noted softly, wondering how much more blood the hobbit could afford to lose.

Aragorn and Legolas locked eyes and began contemplating this as well, remembering the other alternative. At last the ranger spoke, "We'll have to wait until morning. I can do nothing for him tonight."

This verdict was too much for Merry, whose strength left him as his legs gave way. Boromir helped him back under his cloak and drew Pippin close to him, startled at how cold and pale the tweenager was.

* * *

Though the fellowship was weary from lack of sleep, they pressed on. The situation was becoming too dire to stop, even to rest. Morning brought no happy tidings, nor added much hope to the already grave circumstances. When the sun at last rose, they halted and placed Frodo on the ground once more. The sun beat down hotly through the trees and revealed to all just how weak Frodo was. His shirt was soaked in his blood and dark circles were vivid under his closed eyes. His face was gray and bloodless. Legolas placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, "It's time. We can wait no longer, you know it as well as I."

Strider nodded, "I know, but Peregrin is the only one left whose blood he can accept, and I fear that in his shocked state, the drawing of that much blood might be too much for him."

"That, I think, is for Peregrin to decide," Gandalf told them softly, joining them at Frodo's side.

"True, but I believe I already know the tween's answer. Would that Sam was able to help in this way! Pippin would give his life in exchange for his kin's, but I do hate to cause him pain and further weariness."

Legolas went over to where Pippin rested briefly and spoke gravely to the hobbit, "Pippin, Frodo is in trouble, but I am sure you have known this for quite a while now. He has lost a great deal of blood. In my homeland, Mirkwood, we have a method of restoring blood to those that need it, and that is to take the blood of another. You are the only one here who is still able to give your cousin life. He may yet live, even if we do nothing, but that is only if his wound begins to heal. Your blood might give him more time."

"You talk as though I would say no," Pippin told him indignantly.

Legolas looked down at him with sad eyes, acutely aware that Boromir and Gimli hovered close by, hearing everything while pretending not to be listening. "I know you would do anything for Frodo. I merely tell you the truth. This will not make you feel well, and there's a chance that Frodo could react poorly to your blood."

"What do you mean? It's just a little blood. It shouldn't hurt me much. Why would it hurt Frodo?" The hobbit was more curious than worried.

"There's a small chance your blood and Frodo's will not be similar enough, and as for you, your head will buzz, and you will find it hard to stand. You will be thirsty and tired."

"You sound as if you know of this from personal experience."

"I have lived a long time, my friend, and have fought in my battles and wars. Many times I have been near death." Legolas replied.

"Don't let him fool you, he just couldn't stay out of trouble. Need I tell him of the time you stubbornly refused to use a rope when climbing up an icy cliff-face?" Aragorn jested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Do I need to tell him why we were on the icy cliff face in the first place?" Legolas countered. Pippin looked at the two friends, eagerly expecting a story, trying hard not to laugh.

Aragorn ducked his head. "You win, mellon nin."

"Hey, that rhymed!" The young halfling couldn't resist adding. Sobering, he said, "I am ready, just please, can you distract me? I'd rather not have to concentrate on what you are doing. You're sure this is Frodo's best chance?"

"Yes, Pippin, I'm sure. I would not have asked unless the chances of Frodo reacting to your blood were less than the alternative of not having it."

"I will gladly distract you, Pippin." Boromir assured him, joining him with a smile as Legolas selected an arrow from his quiver and used his knife to remove the ends. He offered it to Aragorn.

The ranger frowned, "It's too wide for their veins. Can you file down the ends to make them more narrow?"

Legolas nodded and set to work as his friend searched unsuccessfully for a container to hold Pippin's blood before its transfer to Frodo. Estel grinned darkly, "Lord Elrond would not approve, you know. The wound could become infected, and the shaft will imbed splinters into their skin."

Legolas shook his head, "The way I see it, we have no choice. I will make the edges as smooth as possible."

Leaving the wizard and the dwarf to watch over Merry, the ranger and his elf friend began the time consuming and difficult procedure. Aragorn examined the shaft his friends had prepared, impressed with the skill with which the ends had been thinned to a point and sharpened. He readied Pippin's arm. He would have to be very careful about how much blood he used.

With a slight nod from Legolas, the Steward's son began another story, and Gandalf turned away to watch for the enemy. Sam offered several times to give his blood so Pippin wouldn't have to, but the elf quietly explained that the blood had to come from a relative. With that, the gardener piped down and sat quietly by Frodo's side, anxiously watching the shallow rise and fall of his master's wounded chest.

Listening carefully to Legolas' softly murmured elvish instructions, Aragorn tied a strip of his cloak around the halfling's upper arm until the blue veins began to bulge, then, taking Pippin's small arm into his hands, he quickly jabbed the stick into the crease of the hobbit's elbow. The tween turned very pale and bit his lip to stifle a scream, burying his tear-streaked face into Boromir's chest. The story Boromir told was forgotten. With Sam and Legolas gingerly holding Frodo up, they did the same with the ring bearer, who didn't even flinch. The two friends' eyes met worriedly. They knew this had a very slim change of working and might only cause the hobbit to lose more blood, but there was nothing else to be done.

Forcing Pippin to look at him, Aragorn directed him, "I want you to start counting to five. Boromir can prompt you if you have difficulty concentrating. Each time you reach five, I want you to squeeze Boromir's hand with the arm the shaft is in. No matter what you feel, you must not jerk away. Since we only have this wooden shaft, both you and Frodo must remain very still and close together. Do you understand?"

The hobbit gave him a weak nod. Checking to make sure each end of the small shaft was securely penetrating the skin, the ranger motioned for Pippin to begin. At first, blood spurted out onto Frodo's pale arm, but Legolas held the shaft firmly in place. The fellowship looked on grimly as Aragorn monitored the pulse of both hobbits.

After what seemed like forever, Legolas noticed some color returning to Frodo's face as the blue and gray tinge slowly vanished from his skin. "Enough Aragorn, I fear Pippin cannot take anymore."

At the sound of his name, a dizzy hobbit looked over at them, forcing away the cornbread that Boromir had been force-feeding him since the procedure began. Aragorn nodded his agreement.

Legolas untied the cloth above Pippin's elbow and quickly pulled the shaft from the hobbit's arm, covering the hole with thumb. Aragorn did the same with Frodo's arm and then bandaged it tightly. A relieved Boromir gathered the Took into his arms and held him close, slightly worried at his trembling. Legolas tried to tend to Pippin, but the tween would have none of it until Frodo had been looked after, though he did let Sam bring him a blanket.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gimli kept a constant vigil over Merry, worried by the smallest shiver or grimace of pain. What he did not expect, however, was exactly what happened. "Mr. Gimli? Where are the others?"

The dwarf smiled beneath his beard and answered with a gentle gruffness, "They are tending to Master Baggins. They'll be over here to see to you shortly. How are you feeling, Master Merry?"

The hobbit frowned, "I feel all strange, kind of cold, and dizzy. I can hardly feel my foot at all."

Trying to hide his concern, Gimli shifted them both a bit closer to the fire, ignoring the sweat that was beginning to pour out of his own skin. He made a face when he saw the blackened and swollen foot. His bushy brows furled in concern when he noted the sheen of sweat on the hobbit's brow, despite the fact that the hobbit was shivering. He also observed the large, black pupils that refused to focus. He was about to ask again how the hobbit felt when Merry groped for his hand and gasped, "Gonna be sick…"

The dwarf didn't hesitate in hoisting the hobbit up and onto his side, rubbing his back with gentle circles as Merry retched and heaved. Spent, the hobbit sank back into the dwarf's arms, hardly noticing the gently tickling of Gimli's beard. At any other time, the dwarf would have been annoyed to have the blond elf join him, but at this moment, he was grateful when Legolas brought over a cup of bitter herbs and whispered in his ear, "Aragorn says to give him this. It may help to slow the poison some. Keep him warm, it will make him cold."

Gimli nodded, grateful to be trusted with this task.

* * *

Aragorn frowned as he carefully changed Frodo's blood-soaked bandages. Even with a replenished blood supply, he doubted that the ring bearer would make it to Rivendell. There simply wasn't enough time. The wound was far too massive and had caused so much trauma that it refused to heal on its own. Once again, the hobbit needed treatment that only Lord Elrond or perhaps Lord Thranduil were capable of providing. There was no question that Mirkwood was too far away, and the chance of Frodo reaching Rivendell alive was becoming nothing more than a fantasy.

He almost felt the hobbit's pain as Frodo coughed up a small amount of blood from his damaged lungs and moaned. Aragorn shook his head at the sight of the bruised chest and misshapen ribs. With Frodo still, the gaping wound no longer poured blood, but the fellowship could not remain in one place forever. It was time to move again.

This time, Bill was forced to carry the packs of each member of the fellowship. Legolas once again cradled Frodo gently in his arms. Boromir strode alongside him with Pippin, and Gandalf with Merry. This time, even Sam watched anxiously for the return of the foul beasts of Mordor. Deep down, they all knew that it was just a matter of time before Frodo, and then Merry succumbed to their injuries.


	8. A Glimmer of Hope

The Strength of One Small

Chapter Eight-A Glimmer of Hope

Sam couldn't ever remember such weariness. It was even worse than he remembered when Strider and Glorfindel had urged them on toward Rivendell. Above all, Sam wished that this hadn't happened to all of them. He wished he had been injured instead of Frodo. If his master was going to die, he wished that he could have been killed instantly to start with instead of being forced to endure such pain before the end. Thoroughly exhausted, Sam stumbled several times and moments later felt strong arms lifting him up as he dimly heard Aragorn's rough voice. "Rest a while Samwise, you have done well today." So the gardener slept, reluctantly giving in to the beckoning blackness.

* * *

There was no moon that night and a cold wind cut through even the thickest cloaks. Their pace had slowed to a crawl once again, and even Legolas was slowly becoming weary. Only half alert, he didn't see the light in front of them until they were very close to it. He sensed eyes watching them and came abruptly to a halt. A melodic voice called out viciously and full of malice, cautioning them, "One more step and you die."

Legolas felt, rather than saw, Aragorn set Sam on the ground and come up beside him. He tried to warn him to go no further, but the ranger pushed by him calling confidently, "Elladan, Elrohir! I don't know why you are this far from Imladris, but you are a welcome sight to our eyes."

"Estel! What are you doing here?" Two identical figures emerged from the trees, the outlines of their faces energetic and excited as they embraced their brother roughly. Then they looked at each member of the fellowship in turn, quickly becoming concerned when they saw the injured hobbits and the overall weariness of the entire fellowship.

It was Elrohir who spoke first after the long silence, "What has befallen you and your companions, my brother?"

Aragorn sighed and ran his fingers through his hair and gestured to Frodo's limp form. "We were pursued by orcs, and he was running and somehow plunged down a cliff. I don't know how it happened exactly, but he landed on stake of some sort. It went all the way through his chest. I'm afraid even more damage was caused when we removed it, but we had no other choice. Poor Merry was bitten by a soft mouth, nothing we have done has been able to slow the poison that now flows through his veins."

"Estel," Elladan gasped, at last seeing the wound in Frodo's chest, "How is he still alive? You said this happened several days ago?"

"Yes, it happened about two days ago, and we've almost lost him several times. And Merry, well, the poison is quickly taking hold. He cannot fight it much longer. We must get them to Ada," the ranger replied. Though he spoke in the tongue of men out of respect for his comrades, he found himself unable to keep himself from using the long familiar elvish term.

"Do you have horses?" Boromir asked, coming up beside them with a limp Pippin in his arms. He looked relieved beyond words to see the elves, though his voice sounded gruff and demanding. Worry and weariness sharpened his tongue.

Elrohir nodded, "Yes, we have three. Ada sent us on a rather large hunting expedition because we will have guests arriving from Mirkwood in less than a fortnight."

"Mirkwood!" Legolas exclaimed eagerly, his tiredness washing away at news of his homeland. "Do you know who? Surely not my father?"

Elladan shook his head, "I am not certain of the guests. There is to be a counsel and discussion of the old alliances, so it is possible he might attend."

Gruffly, Gimli interrupted, "Enough jawing-these hobbits need to get to Lord Elrond. We must keep moving."

The twins glared, but surprisingly, it was Legolas who quickly intervened, "No, Master Gimli is quite right. I will see everything for myself soon enough. Time is precious, none can be spared for idle speech. You are both fresh, you should take them on ahead."

The ring bearer groaned as he was gently transferred to Elladan's waiting arms. The elf cradled the halfling as though he was holding a baby and soothed him in his soft, elven tongue. The other twin gingerly took Merry from Gimli, who very grudgingly released the hobbit into the elf's care, forcing himself to bite his tongue to avoid warning the elf to exercise special care and gentleness with the hobbit. It would be a long time before Gimli learned to trust as his four hobbit friends did.

Elrohir was amazed that Merry still lived and frowned when he at last got a good look at the blackened foot.

Once mounted, the twins straightened in the saddle, and Elladan turned to Aragorn, assuring him, "We will get them to father. There is hope yet."

They started to leave when a weary Sam struggled forward and ran in front of their horse, begging pitifully, "Please, you have another horse, can I not go with you?"

Elladan smiled down at him, "Very well, but someone will have to ride with you. Aragorn, perhaps you should come as well so you can tell father about their injuries. You can ride with Samwise, but if you lag behind, we will not slow." The elf was clearly wasting no words as he became aware of the graveness of the situation.

The ranger nodded and helped Sam onto the spare horse, "I wouldn't expect you to slow. Go now, we will follow." When they were out of sight, Aragorn turned to the others, "Legolas, you know what to do for minor injuries. Keep Pippin warm. Good luck." The elf placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We will be fine. Speed to you, you will be needed. Namarie!"

Poor Pippin was too tired to lift his head from Boromir's shoulder and protest that he wished to go as well, so he was left behind. He felt cold and terribly lonely in this strange forest with none of his kin. They trudged on for a while until Gandalf decided it was time to stop. "We must rest. Going on without sleep will only do harm to ourselves now."

Gimli and Legolas protested in unison, surprised that they actually agreed on something. Gimli managed a tired smile at this development, and the prince shrugged briefly. The Steward's son and the tired tween barely lifted their heads. They were too weary to protest, though they wished to go on, as they felt like a hindrance to the others.

"Gimli, you need rest. We all need rest. And Legolas, you may be elfkind, but you have stumbled thrice, and your eyelids are heavy. Even an elf cannot go without rest. Please, lay down for a little while. I will keep watch while you sleep."

The elf sighed and sank down to the ground under the refuge of an ancient tree. His eyes didn't close, but soon filled with a faraway look. He barely noticed Gimli's loud snoring, which had resounded through the woods the moment the dwarf had stretched out on the forest floor.

Pippin, frightfully pale and exhausted, curled up into a ball next to Boromir's sleeping form. Gandalf started a small fire to keep them warm and gazed into the black wood watchfully.

* * *

When the sun rose, Elladan at last slowed and motioned for Elrohir to pull up next to him, saying softly, "Look, the halfling is bleeding again. The jarring from riding has aggravated his wound. I fear he will lose much more blood by the time we reach the borders of Rivendell. How does Meriadoc fare?"

"Not well," the normally playful twin answered grimly, "His fever still climbs and delirium has taken hold. He is in great pain and has cried out several times for Peregrin and some other name I do not recognize-perhaps a young hobbit girl he left behind. I wish Estel were here. How strange that we have lived so much longer than he, yet he knows more about the healing of the ill and injured than we do."

"We'll have to manage on our own this time." While Elrohir waited, his brother dismounted and laid Frodo on the forest floor and began the time-consuming task of slowly and tightly changing the bandages on his chest.

The hobbit trembled, then moaned. Barely detectable, a word escaped his lips, "Sam…" The twins looked at each other, trying to discern whether the word was spoken in delirium or if the hobbit was returning to painful consciousness.

Gently, Elladan shook the hobbit's wrist, taking extra caution not to jar him, "Frodo, Sam will be here soon. This is Elladan, do you remember? Lord Elrond's son."

He did not expect a reply, so it came as a shock when the halfling croaked, "…'dan…'member…Riv…dell." The sentences were chopped and barely audible even to Elladan, but the words brought a smile to the elf's face.

"Okay Frodo, I want you to be completely honest with me. Do you thirst? What about the pain?"

There was a cough and sputter that might have been a sarcastic laugh, but the hobbit replied, "Nothing…you…do…"

Elladan sighed heavily when the hobbit went limp again, but supposed that it was for the best. If they were to reach Rivendell in time, they would be forced to ride hard, and that would cause Frodo great pain if he were conscious.

Mounting again as he gently cradled the injured hobbit in his arms, the elf let his brother take the lead as they continued toward their father's house.

A/N: I have taken some liberties with this chapter in assuming that the hobbits have been well acquainted with everyone in Rivendell as a result of their previous stay.


	9. The Approaching Storm

The Strength of One Small

Chapter Nine—The Approaching Storm

At first Sam was awed by the feeling of being on such a large stallion, and perhaps a bit scared as well. He hadn't known Strider was such a good rider, but gradually the excitement died down and the repetitive jarring of the horse's gait eventually lulled him to sleep.

Aragorn was careful to assure that his small charge did not slide from the saddle, but he did not slow. In his heart he knew he would be needed before the end, and reflecting back, was glad his brother had brought it up. In his weariness, he had forgotten to volunteer to go. Fortunately, Sam hadn't. The ranger's eyelids drooped several times, and he dimly wondered if he would be able to stay alert and awake. His head throbbed from exhaustion, and he found himself thinking back to his last full night of sleep, which had been several nights before. At last he could resist the beckoning slumber no longer, and his head nodded limply onto his chest as he tangled his fingers in the horse's mane, hoarsely urging the horse onward, "Noro lim…Rivendell." Then he slept, praying the horse would find his way on his own.

Not long after, Sam jolted awake and felt the ranger leaning heavily against him. The horse had not slowed, but he did not know where they were. The forest around them flew by in a blur, and he had to close his eyes to keep from become dizzy.

"Mr. Strider! You've fallen asleep, wake up! Please, where are we?"

The ranger stirred and forced himself to look up before settling back down and mumbling, "Rest Sam, the forest is familiar." This only slightly reassured the gardener, who resolved to remain awake and keep a watchful eye on things, but his mind began to wonder as the he began to think of Frodo's pain.

* * *

Meanwhile, a dwarf, an elf, a man, a wizard, and a very small hobbit—an odd group indeed—were just waking from their short slumber. Even Gandalf had failed to keep his eyes from closing. Slowly, everyone rose to their knees, then to their feet until only Pippin remained asleep. Boromir hauled him into a sitting position and pulled the tween onto his lap. Pippin's limbs dangled limply as he did so. "Little one, it's time to move again."

A soft moan was the hobbit's only reply. Only then did Bormir notice the heat radiating from the small form. Gandalf joined him, placing a calloused hand under the Halfling's shirt, feeling the perspiring skin. As the others crowded around, the Istari told them, "His weariness has made it impossible for him to fight off infection. I suspect that his arm has become infected."

Legolas peered over Gimli's shoulder, "Yes, Aragorn feared that would happen. An Athelas wash will aide him if we happen to find any."

"I will keep my eyes peeled!" Gimli volunteered gruffly, though he looked down fondly at the sleeping hobbit, wondering what this journey would be like if the little hobbits were not with the fellowship. It would certainly have made for a darker journey.

Boromir rose then and hoisted Pippin onto his shoulder. "Let us set out then. He will rest easier with his kin."

It felt strange to all of them to hear silence in the absence of Pippin's constant chatter. The light that had shone through the canopy diminished quickly, and a cold, wet rain began to pour. Boromir groaned. This, on top of everything else, was the last thing they needed.

Legolas quickly shed his cloak and wrapped it snugly around the man. After several tries, he succeeded in sheltering all of Pippin and part of Boromir from the rain. At this gesture, Boromir smiled gratefully on the hobbit's behalf. Soon, they were all soaked and each wondered in turn how Frodo and the others fared. They hoped their friends were far ahead of the rain line. A strong wind began to blow from the west as the five companions picked up their pace. A storm was coming, and all but perhaps Pippin realized this. They didn't doubt that they would be caught in the middle of it. The driving winds were so strong and the pouring rains so heavy that the thick canopy did little to shelter them from the fierce elements. There had been very little warning, but this did not console Legolas, who cursed himself with every step. For him, the water was merely a discomfort, but for the others, especially the men and the hobbits, it could mean illness, or even death if they weren't dry and warm soon.

* * *

A clap of thunder in the distance startled Aragorn awake and he slowed the stallion, studying the blackening sky.

"It's going to storm, isn't it, Mr. Strider?" Sam piped up suddenly, trembling ever so slightly at this thought.

The ranger replied somberly, "Yes Sam. Let us hope my brothers are well ahead of us, or they will get caught in it as well."

Sam nodded solemnly, realizing what the rain would mean for Frodo. He twisted in the saddle and asked quietly, "Do you think they sense the storm coming?"

"Undoubtedly. Do not worry, they will do everything in their power to keep Frodo and Merry from further harm."

The stallion sprang forward once more, and the ranger drew the stout hobbit close to keep him from sliding to the ground.

* * *

Standing on the balcony outside of his vast library, Lord Elrond stared into the dark, brooding clouds of the distant gathering storm. It seemed as though his sons' hunting trip would be rained out. He wondered with a frown if the twins would manage to return from _this_ trip unscathed. An unexplained fear clenched at his heart as he headed indoors, where he found his daughter waiting for him.

"What troubles you, Ada? Your mood of late mirrors this dreadful weather."

With a smile to reassure his daughter, he took Arwen's hands, "You know I never rest easy when the twins are away hunting. Those two rascals always seem to find trouble."

Evenstar let the subject drop, not mentioning that her feelings were the same. She sensed something-pain, defeat-feelings strange and almost unrecognizable to her in her sheltered life.

"Come, Ada, perhaps they will return soon."


	10. Reaching Rivendell

Chapter Ten—Reaching Rivendell

As predicted, the storm's fury worsened. This was the type of rain that descended from every direction, unimpeded by trees. Even Gimli had been unable to locate sufficient shelter before they were all chilled to the bone. Boromir was quite concerned that Pippin's condition would worsen if he was allowed to remain wet. He was relieved to at last hear Gimli's rough cry, "Over there!"

The companions hastened to the shelter provided by a small, stone outcropping. If they squeezed against the inner edge, they would manage to stay mostly dry. Once a small fire had been started and Gandalf had taken up the first watch, Boromir began drying their cloaks over the fire and moved Pippin as close as possible. He was relieved to see the hobbit's shivers subside. In the morning he hoped they would be lucky enough to locate some Athelas to slow the infection. Legolas, meanwhile, stared pensively into the rain, wondering how the others were faring.

* * *

Aragorn knew he couldn't stop, though he suspected Elrond would give him a lecture about his mortal body and the folly of exposing it to a cold torrential downpour. Folly or not, he wasn't stopping. Trying to restore some optimism, Aragorn chose to reflect on the benefits a slower ride would have on Frodo's pain, though he conceded it would have no benefit to Merry. At least they were getting close. He had been hunting in these woods for decades with the twins, and later Legolas. He had memorized every trail, path, and shelter. They were only a day's ride out. As the last cobwebs of sleep were shaken from his mind, he had a sudden thought. If he and Sam rode hard, they could alert Lord Elrond to the events that had transpired. Perhaps his father would even ride out to meet the others. Aragorn brightened, pleased to have regained some small grasp of control over the situation.

Strider and Sam caught up to the twins quickly, since they were unimpeded by injuries. The ranger greeted his brothers breathlessly and rode alongside them for a moment to confer with them. They agreed with his plan, though they did voice their concern over Aragorn riding so recklessly, finally conceded that arriving in Rivendell sooner would be beneficial for their brother. After some further debate over the best course of action, it was decided that since Merry could be moved, Sam should trade places with Merry and stay behind with Frodo.

Leaving his brothers behind, Strider galloped ahead much more recklessly than he'd ever allowed himself to ride before, praying to the Valar that his horse's steps would be sure. The sooner Merry reached Imladris, the higher his chances would be for recovery. The venom was beginning to take hole on the hobbit. With this knowledge, he managed to ignore the rain and cold in his bones and continue on, spurring his steed onward in whispered elvish.

* * *

The sentries remained in the shadows. If they were surprised to see Estel's recognizable form returning, they remained silent and in the shadows, allowing him to continue into the Rivendell border unimpeded. The Last Homely house came into view, and the ranger's legs threatened to buckle as he dismounted, groaning as he straightened his stiff legs and began to carry the long-unconscious hobbit up the stairs to the main house. Lord Elrond himself met him at the top, concern clouding his expression. The moments were rare when he was taken by surprise, but he soon recovered.

"Give him to me."

Aragorn did so without protest as he followed Elrond to the guest quarters. Once oriented, he offered, "A soft-mouth bit him on his foot."

Elrond turned sharply, still carrying the hobbit, "When?"

"It's been three days." The gravity of his statement weighed heavily on him.

Elrond sighed, "This may be beyond my aid." He gently settled the unconscious hobbit on the bed in the guest room as Aragorn began to build a fire in the large hearth near the bed.

Arwen appeared in the doorway, "There's more, isn't there, Estel?"

Aragorn turned at her voice. She had grown even more beautiful in the short time they had spent apart. His heart had been aching to see her, and knew he should be grateful for another chance to bid her farewell, but instead he sighed heavily, "First tend to Merry, I'll explain as we go." He smiled over at her as she shoved a hot cup of chamomile in his hand."

"Sit." She ordered gently, for she could see the weariness in this face. The man, though he did not know it, was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.

Elrond wasted no time in tending to Merry. "Estel, have you lanced and drained the wound thoroughly?" The elf lord had rolled up the hobbit's pant leg and was gazing at the foot that was blackened by soft-mouth venom. The blackness had almost reached to the hobbit's knee. Even elves had failed to survive for long after the poison entered their veins. Once again, he marveled at the resiliency of the halfing race.

"Yes, Ada," Aragorn answered, sipping his tea at the other side of the small bed, "but the Nazgul descended on us, and I fear they sped up the poison."

The tall elf quickly crushed up an herbal mixture and placed it on Meriadoc's tongue. Aragorn almost upset his tea when he saw the sudden change in the hobbit's complexion. Arwen placed a hand on his shoulder, "Rest, Estel, the herbs will slow his heart until the poison can be neutralized."

"I will mix up the antidote and administer it as soon as it's ready," Elrond reassured his son before commanded pointedly, "You should rest."

"I can't, Ada, there's more. Frodo…"


	11. The Eye of the Storm

Chapter 11—The Eye of the Storm

The twins kept plodding along through the mud. Sam was exhausted, and Frodo had fallen into a deep and oblivious sleep. Sam despaired that his master would never wake, and to what? A world overtaken by darkness at worst, or—at best—continuing the Quest to Mount Doom. It seemed to Sam that there wasn't much of a world to live for anymore, yet Frodo held on. Even the optimistic twins very much doubted that Frodo would recover. Their father was very skilled, but even his skill had limits. If both Estel and Gandalf had been unable to find a solution, they very much doubted their father would be able to help. Their eyes perked suddenly as they heard the sound of hooves, unmistakably ridden by someone of elf kind.

"Sister!" They greeted, forcing a smile to their faces. Clearly Arwen had left in a rush. Her thick brown hair was a tangled mess, leaving her looking rather unkempt for an elf. She'd clearly taken no time to tie it back, or to change into appropriate attire for a hasty ride. Her delicate gown had been shredded by branches and brambles along the path. She hadn't even taken the extra seconds to fasten a cloak around her neck.

"Ada sent me ahead with supplies," she explained, tossing a spare pack to Elladan. Inside he found clean bandages, herbal concoctions and poultices, and a hefty supply of fresh lembas bread. He continued riffling through it to find tiny elvish needles and suturing thread. Estel had been thorough in describing their needs.

"Ada is on his way. We can wait for him here, and I will see if anything can be done to stabilize Frodo." Her mind journeyed unbidden to that night not so long ago when her father had removed the Nazgul shard from the halfling's shoulder. The bloody scene would remain fresh in her mind as long as she drew breath. Arwen was not prepared for the sight of Frodo's injury, the gaping hole in his chest much worse than she had anticipated, despite Estel's warning. It was clear the wound was causing an infection and would have to be cleaned. She was grateful, for once, that the hobbit had slipped so far away. At least her ministrations would not cause him further pain, pain he would not be able to withstand.

She glanced over at a disheveled and exhausted Sam. It was clear he'd reached his breaking point. Sam slept undisturbed by the rustling as the twins built a shelter around him and his master. Working quickly, Arwen produced some dry tender from her pack and started a small fire. She didn't flinch at the heat as she held the needles in the fire until they blazed a molten red and let go only seconds before her fingers would have burned. She had aided her father in patching up wounded warriors since she was young. His knowledge was far vaster than her own, but even he had admitted that her hands were far more skilled and suited to the task of suturing than his.

As the twins watched, she slowly unpacked Frodo's wound, frowning as his bleeding increased swiftly. Even a temporary repair of his wound would be a challenge, but both Estel and her father had admonished her not to wait. Frodo's body needed to begin healing. Uncorking a vial of strong ale, she poured it into the wound, wrinkling her nose at the burning fumes emitted from the vile drink. The hobbit's wound fizzed and gurgled as it mixed with his blood and turned a bright pink color before soaking the ground underneath his body as it exited though the wound in his back.

Gently, Arwen removed Frodo's cloak, revealing the One Ring. It glinted in the firelight, calling to her. She paused, staring at it curiously. Images sprang to mind. No longer was she the daughter of Lord Elrond, she was a queen in her own right. Estel sat at her side. The masses revered her. Wrenching her eyes away, she shook the images from her mind and used the edge of Frodo's cloak to push the ring aside. Breathing heavily from the encounter, Arwen took a clean bandage and began to soak up Frodo's blood as she began to stitch the tear in the hobbit's throat.

Frodo's blood swirled around her fingers, obscuring her sight. She called Elladan to her side and instructed him to soak up the blood intermittently as she worked. With a great deal of effort, she managed to completely reseal the hobbit's throat before turning her attention to his damaged lung. She probed gently with her fingers and was surprised to find that the hobbit's lung was not as badly damaged as Estel believed. A sheen of sweat covered her brow as she maneuvered her needle through the tiny opening and began to stitch the rip in Frodo's lung. Since the hobbit's ribs were still displaced, she did not attempt any permanent sutures to the rest of the wound. Instead, she gently repacked it from both the front and back and used a few strategic stitches on both ends of the wound to close the gaping opening, leaving just enough room for the wound to drain.

She smiled with relief as Frodo began to breathe more easily, signaling that air was no longer escaping his lung. Nevertheless, the road to recovery would, at best, be long and painful, which saddened her greatly. Estel had spared no details in talking about the ordeal, but it was not his spoken words that had made her understand what Frodo had already endured. The pain in his eyes had told her what his words could not. The strong ranger was actually shaken by all he had been required to do to keep Frodo alive. Arwen ached for him, but at least his mortal mind could forget. The images in his mind would fade, even if only temporarily.

* * *

Elrond arrived to find his young patient sleeping soundly. Frodo certainly wasn't out of danger, but if he had strength to fight off the infection that was only beginning to awaken, he just might survive. "You've done well, Arwen," he whispered to his daughter, "Now we have more time. I only hope no further misfortune overtakes the rest of the fellowship. Illness and injury are not our only enemies, though I must say I did not foresee such a grave turn of events so soon into their journey."

* * *

To be continued...

**Pip4**-Thank you for reviewing. I'm glad to see one of the original readers is still interested in finding out what happens to Frodo!


	12. Cold

Chapter 12-Cold

At first light, Gandalf made the decision to continue onward. The rain had slowed dramatically, enough that Pippin could remain snug and dry under Gandalf's cloak. A night of rest had agreed with the youngest halfling more than anyone had expected, but even gruff Gimli had agreed that they needed to avoid further setbacks. By midday, Pippin was almost his normal, mischievous self, distracting them all from thinking about Frodo and Merry by his antics of trying to steal Boromir's dagger. They all marveled at the resiliency of the young Took, who by evening appeared to have recovered entirely from the infection and blood loss.

* * *

An exhausted Aragorn dozed from his perch on the window seat of Merry's room. The adrenaline rush from his arrival, and then Elrond's treatment of Merry had worn off hours before. He was at least glad he'd managed to hide most of his exhaustion until he was alone, having long ago grown tired of being treated like an invalid at the first hint of illness. He had not allowed himself to rest until Merry was resting peacefully from the first dose of antidote and the others had left to find the twins. Then, and only then, did he take up watch from the vantage point of the window and allow the soothing blackness to overtake him.

He woke with a start to Merry's delirious screaming. His feet were on the floor before he was fully way, and he crossed the room in two quick strides as Merry bolted upright in bed, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"Merry!" Aragorn shook him gently, but firmly. "I'm right here."

"Orcs…snakes…Sauron…" The hobbit was having a full-blown fever induced panic attack.

Aragorn continued to call his name until the hobbit calmed and finally looked at him with recognition. "Where am I?"

Aragorn shifted on the bed so Merry could see around him into the room. Merry recognized his surroundings immediately. The guest chambers of Rivendell had grown quite familiar to him during Frodo's recovery. He frowned, remembering. "Frodo…?"

"I don't know, Merry. Lord Elrond and Arwen have ridden out to meet the twins, but you seem to be out of danger for the time being. You'll have to rest more frequently," the ranger admonished, "The poison weakened your heart. It may take a while before you're back to your normal, energetic self."

Merry's pale face glistened with sweat at the effort of sitting up. He had no memory of leaving Frodo or the twins, or of how he managed to be sent away with Strider. Leaning back against the pillows his stomach rumbled loudly, and he asked weakly, "When can I eat? I'm starved!"

A true smile cracked Aragorn's face for the first time since the entire ordeal began, "How about some stew? I do believe you will be on your own feet much sooner than Lord Elrond predicted."

After finishing off two huge bowls of stew, Aragorn noted that Merry looked more robust already. Trust food to perk up a hobbit. The ranger returned to his perch. All that was lacking was a good book and a roaring fire. Today reminded Aragorn of a day when he was little and recovering from a nasty cold. The twins had taken him exploring around Rivendell almost as soon as he had recovered, much as the hobbits had done before the council. There were amazing old tales to be found in the magnificent library, secret passages to explore to and from the great hall, and gardens. They would be a good distraction if Merry improved quickly. Perhaps he would show the hobbit his special spot. Sleep claimed the man once again.

* * *

The fire had died down and sunset had long passed when Aragorn woke again. This time he woke more slowly. It was as if his mind told him to wake up, but his body disagreed. He pried one eye open, then another. Then he heard it. The faint moan was barely audible. The last cobwebs of sleep cleared his mind, and he went to check on his small charge.

The hobbit was shivering, but when Aragorn touched him he found that Merry was quite warm. Too warm. Lighting the lamps, he gently shook Merry awake.

"Do you feel worse, Merry?"

The hobbit's face contorted, "Gonna be…sick…"

Aragorn wasted no time in throwing back the covers and carrying the young hobbit to the latrine his father had left for just such a purpose. The hobbit retched violently as the man rubbed small circles on his back. At last it stopped, and Merry sank back into Aragorn's arms, but not before Aragorn noticed the blackened foot. The signs of the poison should have almost entirely faded, but instead, it had begun to slowly creep up the hobbit's leg once more. Bearing the hobbit back to bed, Aragorn strode quickly to his father's study. He needed to make another dose of the antidote, and perhaps couple it with a double dose of the blood-slowing tea.

He realized with despair the Lord Elrond's herbal supplies were growing dangerously low, likely because he'd taken so much out with him to aide Frodo. Merry would never resent him for that. Looking around, he at last found enough herbs to mix up an antidote and crushed them quickly with the ancient mortar and pestle. He would have to find another alternative to slow the hobbit's heart.

The man returned quickly to his friend's room, holding up his small curly head and forcing him to drink the bitter concoction. That he did so without protest worried the ranger, though he had no one with whom to share his thoughts. Walking to the window, he felt the brisk air. Yes, that could just work.

The man carefully bore the hobbit to the garden pools, satisfied to find that they were as fresh and cold as ever. "I'm sorry, Merry, but I have to do this."

The moment he placed the hobbit in the frigid water, the hobbit yelped and the elves walking nearby in quite meditation peered over in surprise. Seeing who it was, they did not interfere. Merry reacted quite harshly to being held in the water. He kicked, thrashed, and screamed. The ranger's heart wrenched at the pitiful cries begging to be saved. "Merry, I promise, I will not let go of you."

Aragorn's words had no effect, but as the icy water took hold, the hobbit's thrashing subsided, and then he stopped talking all together. Soon his violent shivers also subsided. The hobbit's lips were the first thing to turn blue, then his fingers, then his toes, then his hands. Aragorn listened carefully for each breath Merry drew. The hobbit's eyelids began to droop, and he was soon limp in Aragorn's arms. The ranger grimaced, noticing his arms were also becoming numb. He couldn't afford to drop the hobbit.

Noting his suddenly precarious situation, his audience pushed him back and took hold of the hobbit, while another handed him a dry blanket for his arms, "Just tell us when," the tallest one said softly. Aragorn nodded, his eyes never leaving the hobbit. He knew he couldn't wait too long, but the longer he waited, the longer the antidote would have a chance to neutralize the poison. Merry's breaths were becoming shallow, and the time between suddenly lengthened sharply.

"Now!" Aragorn commanded, and the elves lifted his friend out of the water immediately. Aragorn noticed with satisfaction that the blackening of Merry's foot was reducing. All that was left was to keep him cold until the poison dissipated. He could have to exercise great caution. If he prolonged this state of cold too long, the hobbit might never wake, but if he warmed him too quickly, the poison would be able to continue its spread. It was going to be a long night.


	13. Reflections and Improvements

Chapter 13—Reflections and Improvements

Merry's shivers returned almost immediately and Aragorn spent many long hours gently soothing him, calling him back if he strayed too far from life. When at last it was clear he could wait no longer, he began the slow process of warming the hobbit. First warm blankets, then warm compresses. The hobbit's shivers only grew more violent as his body slowly warmed. As morning neared, the ranger stroked the fire in the hearth and moved the hobbit as close to it as he dared. As the first rays of sunlight began to shine into the room, the blue tinge began to fade from the hobbit's face. Aragorn quickly checked the location of the snake bite and saw with satisfaction that it was pink. The poison was gone, and Aragorn was exhausted.

* * *

Meriadoc woke to his caretaker sleeping. Indeed, Aragorn was snoring loudly on the small bed. Turning his head, Merry saw that he had been bundled up in blankets and shoved near the hearth. It was sweltering now, and he felt like he'd been fairly swaddled. Last night, even in his dreams he had felt cold, but he didn't remember anything, only being lost in a dead forest that wound deeper and deeper into shadow. A gentle light had occasionally broken through the thick canopy and pointed the way home, and then he'd only gotten lost again. With a sigh, he shook the haunting dream from his mind and tried to sit up, only to find that he didn't have the energy to pull himself upright. Great. Now Pip would never let him hear the end of it. He was determined to at least appear on the mend by the time Pip reached Rivendell, then he frowned again. Supposing he'd already reached Rivendell, already seen him like this…

* * *

The arrival of Frodo caused a commotion late that morning, waking Aragorn from his nap. The poor ranger had been a bit disoriented to find Merry propped up in his usual spot on the window sill eating a hearty breakfast, while he himself was strewn out over the bed. Banging his shins while struggling to right himself on the too-small bed, Aragorn crossed the room to where Merry was peering anxiously out the window, his breakfast forgotten.

"Strider—I can't see anything. What's going on?" He looked around when no reply was given. "Strider?"

Aragorn, meanwhile, had caught up to his returning family and began to follow them down the hall as they whisked the hobbit into the guest quarters closest to Lord Elrond's study. He was relieved to see that, though he remained unconscious, Frodo's features were no longer the bluish-gray color Strider had observed since the hobbit's accident. However, the bruising had extended up to the hobbit's neck and now peaked out in a rainbow of black, purple, blue, and green from the massive bandages wound tightly around his small chest. Judging from Sam's brightened expression of relief and the fact that the bandages remained for the most part unstained, Frodo's situation was indeed improving. Bilbo trailed behind. Someone must have at last informed him of the events that had transpired. The ranger felt a stab of guilt at failing to do so himself. Arwen slowed to fill him in on the events that had transpired as the twins and her father settled Frodo in bed.

* * *

Aragorn hung back outside of Frodo's crowded room until only Bilbo remained, dozing after a second lunch that had remained mostly uneaten, and Sam had gone to check on Merry. He lowered himself to Frodo's bed, a medicinal tea ready in one hand. He had already debated over his course of action. To wake Frodo would cause the hobbit pain, but he needed to ascertain the hobbit's condition for himself. Gently, he shook Frodo's leg to wake him. It took some gentle effort, but finally the hobbit began to stir. Sam would likely draw Sting on the ranger if he knew what he was doing.

Frodo groaned and looked up at him, "Aragorn."

"Yes Frodo, you're in Rivendell. How is your pain?"

"Believe it or not, I feel better than I did after Lord Elrond removed the shard from my shoulder…but still terrible." His pain increased quickly, especially as he noticed his injury clearly for the first time and panic set in. As the pain increased, so did his difficulty breathing.

Aragorn held the tea up to the hobbit's lips, "Drink this, it will help you sleep so your body can recover."

Frodo feebly pushed it away, "Give me a minute. I want to know…about…Merry."

The man smiled, glad to deliver some good news, "I believe he is on the mend."

Frodo relaxed then and allowed Aragorn to bring the cup back to his lips. He was asleep again in seconds. The ranger was impressed at the hobbit's lucidity, though the flushed cheeks concerned him.

* * *

Aragorn was lost in his dark thoughts when his brothers found him staring pensively at a mural of the great kings of old marching to battle. Images sprang to his mind, unbidden. The ambush. The spears that had flown from above at surprising speed. The memories wouldn't stop coming. Aragorn had dragged his companion away from the battle and had tried to staunch the flow of blood. It had spewed everywhere with every beat of the elf's heart. His friend had gasped for breath, screaming with agony. The agony had continued without abating until his friend had breathed his last. He had continued to fight until they'd almost reached safety. The orc pursuit and constant movement had hastened his painful death. It was the first time he'd ever witnessed someone die, and he'd dreamed about it for months afterward. It haunted him.

"You forget, brother—we were there, too" Elladan surprised him, speaking quietly from the shadows.

* * *

Lord Elrond was waiting for his son as he neared the guest rooms.

"The hobbit regains his strength."

"Aye, Ada. I am much impressed by Arwen's skill. I expected the worst when you arrived, to have to call him back from death, or be forced to bury him, but it seems the last day has brought healing to Frodo."

The elf lord nodded grimly, "Frodo has at last gained a small advantage, but the next days are crucial. Arwen repaired what she could so he could survive the journey, but now we must look to the even more delicate work—splinters that must be removed, bones that must be set, and skin that must be regrown. I fear his heart is too taxed to endure much further strain."

Aragorn struggled to remain objective, "The options are more plentiful than when we were alone in the woods, but to wait risks a grave infection and to proceed now risks his life."

"Of this I am aware. Rest tonight. Tomorrow will be quite arduous for you. You look exhausted, my son."

Their soft conference was interrupted by a soft thud around the corner, followed by Sam's soft voice, "Mr. Merry, what are you doing out of bed?"

Estel and his father turned the corner to find a very pale hobbit leaning against the wall and struggling to catch his breath. Spent, Merry gasped between breaths, "I wished to see my cousin."

Aragorn smiled. The stubborn hobbit really _was_ on the mend, "Frodo is resting. I've only just given him something to help him sleep without pain." He was going to let his father order the hobbit back to bed, but then thought better of it. His optimism had wavered. If tomorrow went badly, Merry would be haunted by what happened the same way he was haunted by his friend's death. Merry needed to see his cousin before he worsened.

* * *

_To be continued_…more angst to come…(and we'll catch up with the rest of the fellowship)

**xXSparky CadeXx**-Wow! Such high praise...I feel a bit undeserving!**  
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	14. Splinters

A/N: Again, don't try this at home (though I do hope none of you meet such unfortunate injuries)!

Chapter 14: Splinters

Sometime deep in the night, an odd group arrived at the Last Homely House. Mechanically, they followed Lady Arwen to their separate quarters, even the elf was exhausted. Had the tidings of late not been so grave, Arwen might have laughed at the travelers' bedraggled appearance and filthy clothes. Legolas' hair looked brown and stringy. Indeed, the entire party appeared to have slept in mud. It coated Gimli's armor and Boromir's shield. The lady elf resisted an urge to greet Mithrandir as Gandalf the Brown, but their expressionless faces told her that her humor would be lost on them. Of the group, Pippin was the cleanest, though clean was not an appropriate word to describe him. They veered to the guestrooms, but she gave them a look of scathing disapproval. It went unnoticed.

"Bath first. Then bed." The group groaned like typical men, but shuffled after her obediently. Now if she could just dispose of their clothes while they were under the stupor of exhaustion.

* * *

Away from the bathhouses, Lord Elrond had already begun to gather his supplies, to think through every possible route the procedure could take. He would need light, warmth, athelas, forceps (relics made by his father), and bandages. He frowned at his herbal supply. He wished Merry no ill-will, but it was unfortunate the heart slowing herbs were used up. The hobbit must never know. It would be a risk they would be forced to take, but not a risk he couldn't prepare for. Other, less powerful herbs could be used.

* * *

Lord Elrond entered Frodo's room before the sun rose. It should have been empty, but Bilbo and Sam had remained and now dozed near Frodo's beside. They would have to leave. No one rushed or hurried; to an outsider it would seem the opposite was true. When the room had been emptied, Lord Elrond was surprised to find the hobbit stirring. Wakefulness arrived. Elrond knew because ofthe pain that gripped Frodo's features.

Smoothing his robes, the Lord of the House sat himself on the edge of the bed. "Can you hear me, Frodo?"

A nod came, and the hobbit didn't protest as the elf lord placed a hand behind his neck and lifted his head so he could sip yet another concoction. "Frodo, you've shown great courage, I regret to ask more of you."

He laid the hobbit's head back on the pillow, satisfied that the small dose had taken the edge from Frodo's pain. It was all he could spare.

"Frodo, your wound is riddled with tiny splinters and cannot heal until they are removed. Regretfully this action does not come without danger, so I must ask you, Frodo, if you are willing to endure further pain, even if only for the purpose of being fit to bear the One Ring to Mt. Doom."

The blue orbs wavered, and Elrond saw that Frodo had already given the matter great thought, likely after the Nazgul wounding. The Halfling licked his dry and cracked lips, "I don't want anyone else ruined…"

"Ruined, Frodo?" Yet he understood. With the ring came a loss of innocence. Frodo knew its bewitching power only too well.

"Merry…Pip…they'd never be able to hold the same joy…Sam would grow bitter…Aragorn...I can't let anyone else….suffer."

The elf lord nodded, "We will do our best, Frodo, and we'll all be with you—myself, Aragorn, Gandalf."

Frodo's nod would have been imperceptible to a man's eyes. He sank back into sleep.

* * *

When the sun reached a high enough point to see, they began, while Sam paced anxiously outside. Glorfindel stood at the doors, ready to summon whoever and whatever they needed, or to prevent entry. Gandalf sat by the pale hobbit, and Aragorn next to him. Lord Elrond sighed. It was time to begin, he looked to his son, who laid a gentle hand on the small brow and let Frodo into a deep sleep, grateful his lungs had healed enough to allow it. Getting him asleep was easy, but waking would be hardest.

With deft fingers from years of experience, the kind one was not happy to possess, he cut the bandages free, and then ever so slowly began to pull the bandages from the wound, taking care not to tear out any stitches. He was satisfied to see that his daughter's work had allowed some of the internal injuries to mend. He imagined that the excision would prove to be rather routine, and for that, he was thankful. He motioned for Aragorn to raise the light as high as possible; his elf eyes could already see the splinters Arwen had confided to him about, in whispers. The tissue around them had begun to fuse to them in an attempt to heal, and were an angry and swollen red. Pus was already developing.

"We'll have to be certain we get them all, and then burn the infected areas away. Estel, you will need to keep him asleep for that."

Taking a deep breath, the elf lord picked up the forceps he'd used for thousands of years, most recently to assist him in removing the Nazgul shard from Frodo's shoulder. He still had not recovered all his power after the ordeal. Slowly, he began to pluck on the angry splinters, first one, then two. He knew that if he did not find them all before the displaced bones were reset, he would never find them. His optimism began to fade as the splinters resisted, as though an evil forced pulled them toward the ringbearer.

Gandalf heard his thoughts, "Elrond. We must move the ring away from him."

The three froze, the ring beckoning to them in the glistening light. Fear—and desire—paralyzed them, but the slow trickle of Frodo's blood moved them to action.

"I'll return with Samwise shortly," Gandalf told them gruffly. Frodo would have protested at this, but the three silently knew no other option was available.

The wizard returned quickly, for Samwise had waited by the door for word. The hobbit looked hesitatingly at his master, pale, bleeding, his wound fully exposed. The newly healed scar from the Nazgul wounding was also visible. Blast that filthy wraith. The ring beckoned, but Sam wasn't entranced by it. "Alright, Gandalf, I'll do as you ask, but I'll not be leaving this room."

Strider smiled. Only a hobbit would give demands in order to possess the One Ring.

Elrond sighed, weary of his weakness to this evil. "You may remain, but you must not interfere." Sam, thankfully, introduced no further stipulations, instead accepting Gandalf's offered handkerchief.

When Sam had finally eased the ring and its chain from around Frodo's neck and sat in a corner clutching it awkwardly, Elrond began again. He was pleased to find that the last of the splinters gave way much more easily.

Aragorn retrieved a small metal utensil from the fire. Sam's eyes widened as he beheld its red-hot end, but Elrond dipped it into water until the molten glow faced. A sickening sizzle was emitted from Frodo's wound as the utensil was applied to the infected tissue. His body recoiled, but Aragorn held him fast and pushed him deeper into sleep and away from the pain. This time it took him more effort.

Setting the utensil aside, Elrond felt along the ribs, then motioned for the others to do so as well. "I feel three ribs that need to be moved into place."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, and Elrond seemed to pause until they were all ready. Placing a hand on the blackened flesh, the elf inserted his fingers under the first displaced rib, then expertly pushed them upward. There was a faint pop, and Sam noticed the ranger sway from the effort of keeping Frodo from pain. The man at last won his complete trust and loyalty.

Lord Elrond repositioned his fingers, and another pop sounded. This time Gandalf steadied Aragorn, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. The elf seemed to pick up his pace, casting a look of worry at his son, and at the tiny halfing in his charge. The man had clearly reached his limit, given the exhaustion of the last few days. He waited for Estel to regain his composure, then repositioned his finger to push the last rib into place. He was glad Sam didn't know that Frodo would not be able to survive the pain of moving the damaged bones and tissue if he woke. His heart would be permanently damaged.

Casting a telling look at Mithrandir, he pushed deftly one final time. Beads of sweat broke out on the man's face, which had paled tremendously. Too late, Elrond realized Estel's choice. The man had been unable to keep the last of the pain from Frodo, so he'd taken it on himself. Gandalf caught the man as he sank to his knees with a gasp of agony. The flash of pain left him as his hand slipped from Frodo's skin, he collapsed completely on the floor.

The room sprang into a flurry of activity as Elrond tended to Frodo and Gandalf fetched an athelas compress from the basin next to Frodo's head, reporting, "I've called him back from danger, but he expended much of his own life force during the task. He knows better."

* * *

tbc…


	15. Mending and Meetings

A/N: Final chapter! Wow! Disclaimer is at the beginning.

Chapter 15-Mending and Meetings

* * *

"…exhausted…"

"…spent too much of his own strength…"

"…on the mend…"

* * *

Aragorn's eyes flew open and he found with chagrin that he was in his old bed in his old room. Lord Elrond sat stiffly in a nearby chair, reading a tattered tome he'd probably memorized long ago. His clenched jaw gave away his anger, though it was belied by the furrow in his brow. Aragorn didn't need to ask what had happened; earlier events still swam in his foggy mind. His father pretended not to notice as he attempted to sit up a first time, then a second. As his third try elicited a grunt and their eyes met.

"You've quite weakened yourself, Estel. You'll be fortunate if you're out of bed unaided by the end of the week." The elf's face softened as he finally relented and set the book aside.

Once he was propped up by the heap of pillows, the ranger looked down at the coverlet. He felt like a tween again, being scolded like this. "I knew what I was doing, Ada."

"I know. That is why I am angry with you, Estel. You are important, too."

"I couldn't see him in more pain. I couldn't bear it."

Elrond's calm was clearly forced as he bit out, "You weakened your heart, and you are very fortunate you did not incur more permanent damage." The shadows around his eyes told Aragorn more than he desired to know, and he shuddered at his close call, not because he was afraid of death, but because of the despair he saw in the depths of those eyes.

"How _is_ Frodo?" Aragorn changed the subject.

Elrond frowned at his tactic, but allowed an answer, "He rests peacefully now. Most of those who would have been at his bedside are quite worried about you. They were quite beside themselves when we carried you out of that room. It was most unexpected—and then you proceeded to sleep for two days."

"Hush, Ada, he needed the rest away." Arwen's melodic voice scolded as her stepped inside the room from the garden entrance, cutting off Aragorn's predictable exclamation over how long he'd been in bed. "There's been quite an uproar in the kitchen this morning. It seems two of our young hobbit guests were caught raiding the pantry last night. Cook is quite offended."

Lord Elrond hid a smile and Aragorn allowed a sigh of relief to escape, "So Pippin and Merry are on the mend. I am glad to hear it."

"Indeed. And I suspect Frodo will be making an appearance long before you do."

Aragorn frowned. "He's regained his strength already?" Before Elrond could dissuade him, he'd thrown back the coverlet and swung his legs over the side. He seemed to have forgotten his earlier failure at the trial of sitting upright unaided. He didn't even get the chance to stand upright as his actions caught up with him and he involuntarily slumped back on the bed.

Elrond helped him put his feet back under the covers and looked at him pointedly, "I trust you've learned your lesson about spreading yourself too thin?"

"Yes, Ada," Aragorn mumbled obediently, feeling very much like the scolded child instead of a hardened warrior. "How is Frodo?"

At this, Elrond smiled, "Well, this morning, he woke at the break of dawn and demanded a stew. Gandalf tried to coax him with a bit of broth, but it just wouldn't do for him. He quite insisted that he wanted a stew. Cook reports he was quite starved and ate several helpings."

Aragorn smiled tiredly, his body betraying him as his eyelids suddenly became heavy. He felt a hand on his brow.

"Sleep, my son. We have much to discuss when you recover."

Elladan poked his head around the door, "Ada, the guests from Mirkwood have arrived. Legolas has gone to welcome them."

_Mirkwood._ Aragorn's foggy brain struggled to keep up with events he'd been left in the dark about. No matter how hard he strained to stay awake, he couldn't stop the welcoming dark comfort that was absorbing his mind. He never noticed the pillows being removed and being lowered gently to the bed.

The older elf rose after readjusting the coverlet for good measure, "Very well. I shall join you all shortly." They had much to discuss with their brothers from Mirkwood. He didn't relish reporting that the quest had been delayed by at least another month, but he and Gandalf both agreed that—given the dangers of the road—it would be ill-advised for the fellowship to venture out again until fully recovered. They had been fortunate indeed, at least in retaining their lives. The casualty counts so early into their departure most certainly could not be counted as fortunate. The Valar had protected them, and he could only pray that they would continue to watch over the Fellowship of the Ring.

* * *

Afternoon found Frodo lounging in the garden. Sam could tell by his master's careful movement that his wound was still causing his pain, yet wisely kept silent. Mr. Frodo had been a mite grouchy of late, and Sam felt his best course was to tread lightly, so he continued regaling the younger Baggins with a retelling of Pippin and Merry's latest adventure.

"Cook was mighty perturbed, he was. Mr. Pippin got caught red hanged in the pantry with the mutton. Apparently it was Cook's prized mutton chop he'd been reserving for some special guests come dinnertime. Mr. Pip and Mr. Merry had near' 'bout eaten the whole stash. Cook threw them out by their britches."

"So _that_ was the railing I heard earlier."

"Yes, Mr. Frodo. He was complaining to Mr. Elrond that the twins had best be goin' hunting to replace it. He's making Merry and Pippin go with him, too!"

Frodo thought Sam sounded a bit jealous, and was about to say so when he sensed a change in subject. Sam's mouth was drawn up in a frown, like he was working up the curious to say something, but couldn't quite bring himself to begin. His patience rather thin, he finally bit out, "Sam. Just say whatever it is you're going to say so we can get back to more entertaining forms of conversation."

The gardener gulped, "Well, Mr. Frodo. It's about that ring of Mr. Bilbo's, you see. I, er, borrowed it while you were…er…were…"

Frodo's eyes narrowed, "_Borrowed_ it? That doesn't sound like you, Sam."

The words seemed to come out in a rush. "You were…you were dying and Gandalf came and got me. Mr. Elrond and Mr. Strider were trying to save you, only the ring wouldn't let them, so I agreed to keep it for you until you could heal. Only I think you've healed now and I don't want to have to keep up with it anymore." He abruptly ripped it off his neck and deposited it into Frodo's hand.

The ringbearer was so surprised that he almost dropped it. Looking at Sam curiously, he slipped the heavy chain over his head and hid the ring under his clothes.

Sam was visibly relieved.

Frodo's arched eyebrow asked the question he didn't want to answer, yet couldn't be ignored. "It's evil. When I wear it, I can feel it. It makes me uneasy."

The other hobbit nodded knowingly. "I'll be glad when we're rid of it, Sam. Until then, I'm willing to bear the burden. Now help me back inside. Hopefully Cook isn't so angry he won't fix me another of those stews. Learn the recipe, will you, Sam?"

* * *

As the afternoon faded into early evening, Lord Elrond sat in council with Gandalf the Gray, Legolas, and the young elf's father, Lord Thranduil.

"You regret letting them go, do you not?" Gandalf was saying.

"How can I have no regret? Barely gone and already such injuries, and a lengthy delay."

"It was no fault of the hobbits. Had you sent only men, or elves, the ring would not have been safe."

Thranduil did not look pleased with his son's words. "The ring was hardly safe _with _their presence, either. They were unable to defend themselves."

Gandalf chuckled, "You might be surprised. They held their own quite well."

"You must allow my guard to accompany the fellowship. They need the extra measures to protect them."

Elrond was silent for a long while, thinking over the unique fellowship of dwarf and elf and man. "The question of changing the fellowship should be for the members of the fellowship to decide. They have bonded, and to upset the balance of that loyalty could be more deadly than any outside force Sauron could send. Though I do feel some sense of responsibility for sending the hobbit into danger, they have proven their merit. Perhaps it is folly for them to continue, but the choice must remain with the fellowship."

Gandalf nodded quietly, meeting Legolas' eyes. "Lord Thranduil, I'm afraid we must decline your offer of assistance. The Valar have shown their blessing on our journey, and we must assume they would desire no change be made in our fellowship."

* * *

Arguments surrounded the Fellowship of the Ring for their remaining time at Rivendell. When they departed again, the season was late and storms in the mountains would slow them, yet they had still declined outside aide. All members held a profound distrust of offers of help and, by contrast held a greater trust of each other, having seen the willingness of the others' to protect their group at all costs, and their trustworthiness regarding the ring and the vulnerability of its bearer. So they set out again. This time, Frodo knew which way to lead them.

END

Thank you, dear readers, for sticking with this story for so long, for the encouraging reviews and favorites and author alerts that kept me writing. I hope you have been pleased with the story—I know I enjoyed writing (and torturing the poor hobbits)!


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